Mijiu
by Somberly Made
Summary: Most poets wrote about women or nature. The famous poet Sesshōmaru wrote about rice wine. Some would accuse him of being a drunkard, but no one would come close to the truth unless they were Rin, his servant.


**Mijiu**

**Gold for Mijiu  
**The price is absurd  
The same price for slaves  
A slave has more use  
The body for my bliss  
The hand to pour my mijiu  
I have plenty wine  
This money in my palm  
Shall go for a slave instead

**What **do you think of when you think of the word sold? Do you think of the gold in your hand as you carefully observe the fish displayed at market? Do you think of the stuff mined beneath the earth? Do you think of the jewelry draped around your wife's neck as you watch her in the flickering candle light of your bedroom?

Do you know what I think?

I think of my ticket out of these chains. I think of a master, one who is benevolent and kind. One who will hand me more gold than I need for when he sends me to fetch the ingredients for the evening meal and will never ask for the change, one who shall recite poetry to me written by his beautiful wife or perhaps even one of his concubines if she is not enough. I imagine a kind master, the like one who has sadly passed onto the realm beyond. When I think of gold, I think of kindness, altruism. I think of my future master, well versed in the knowledge of Confucius and literature.

Oh but I should stop there. I'm starting to sound like a girl fallen ill with love sickness. I know that my master may not be any of those things, I know he may be unkind to me, use my body like a concubines but never give me the status that should. I know that he may think Confucius to have been an idiot, and follow in none of his ways. I know that he could be even illiterate. As long as he has gold he may buy me, though I hope for more than just some piggish man. A woman may dream I suppose.

I shift slightly in my kneeling position, still keep my head down though. I hear the chatter of servants and men, the merchants haggling with customers over the price of their goods. I am goods too, so I must look my best. I must look respectful, knowledgeable of my position in the scheme of things. I am but no more than a mere pawn, and that should be represented by my actions and appearances. Despite the fact I am still for sale, and have been so for some time, I like to think that I'm the image of a perfect servant. It is just my exotic looks that scare men away. I am not from this great empire you see, but from an island nature residing off the coast.

I was born in the capitol of this island nation, Rìběn as it is called here, Nihon as it is called there. The capitol is called Kyoto and it is a place of grandeur. I miss it dearly but there is no home for me there, and there hasn't been for many years. My home is here now, in this wonderful empire. I may be from Nihon but I speak fluently the language of this empire, and I know the ins and outs of it. I value Confucius's teachings, unlike me heathen brethren. It is a shame though that my appearance shows my place amongst their lot and it is a shame that no one here can look past it. I truly am just like these people in their mind and spirit.

"Absurd," I hear one consumer hiss under his breath. That is another good thing about me, or perhaps bad if my new owner is a secretive man. I hear quite well, and can hear even the smallest of sounds. If there is a rat skittering around in the nursery of my new master's baby son, I will be able to hear it from the kitchen and inform those that need to be informed about it before it becomes to troublesome. Even so, no one will cough up the gold.

"Do you know who I am?" the man who'd hissed absurd barks at whatever merchant is trying to scam him out of his gold. I frown slightly before pulling back up my mask of indifference. I do not like men like him, people that try to use who they are to get more than others can get. There should be no one in the world that is so important that prices should be dropped for them, well anyone _besides_ the emperor. The emperor should get anything he wants for free.

See how much I am like these people? Do you see how much my thoughts resemble theirs'? I would do anything for the same emperor they bow to and worship. I value him, the son of heaven, more than my own life. If I could, I would work in his household without any gripes, doing anything ordered of me too make sure that the emperor is pleased. But that does not matter I suppose, only how I look and where I was born. Such a shame.

"Any who've been slaves before?" I hear a man ask my seller. I keep my head down but I feel like a dog with its ears pointed towards the noise. It is a strange image conjured in my mind but it is what I imagine. I asked a person about it once, one of the concubines of my old master, and she said I was foolish. I am human and therefore my ears don't turn towards a sound.

"Yes," I hear the disgust in his voice. Perhaps this is another reason I've never been bought before. My seller hates me too, just as much as any potential buyer. I do not let it sadden me though, it is to be expected by these dim-witted fools. "That one has been, though she's never been with a man like one would expect."

"I want an experienced woman," the potential buyer demands.

"Well, if that was what you wanted then you should've said that to begin with," I can hear the anger in my seller's voice. He's frustrated even though he knew what the potential buyer was trying to discreetly demand. "If that is what you want, then I have more than just one for you to look over. I've got a woman named Yin Guāng, and another named Méi Yòng, and…"

I stop paying attention to their conversation. Many men have come before him asking for the same, experienced women. I am not, but only thanks to my previous master who was much more honorable then these prospective masters.

This land claims to love honor, to place it above everything and anyone but how I have my doubts. If they truly were all for honor as they say, then why would a man walk into a slave market looking for woman experienced in the pleasures of the flesh. Hell, why would a man take one of his slaves to begin with if honor was the first thing on his mind. I smell hypocrisy, though whether anyone would care I know not.

"I am Sesshōmaru, certainly you have heard of me," I hear, tuning back into the conversation that was being held between a merchant and disgruntled customer.

I knew who Sesshōmaru was, many people did. He was all the rage in the world of poetry at that moment, the greatest poet to walk the earth they say. I loved his poetry whenever my previous master read it to me. It was so pretty, so down to earth. He has a specific style, three lines of five characters, one line of six, one line of seven, another of five, another of six, and one final line of seven characters. It is so pretty. It resembles a haiku, just longer and little varying.

His poetry has come under fire as of recent, mostly by '_concerned_' women who worry for the corruption of their little daughters. I guess I can see where they are coming from, he does write about mijiu, rice wine, and women quite frequently, though mijiu more so then women. Sex though, and drinking, is a part of life. I've never understood why over here these things are shameful to women, forbidden and dirty. It's not that way in Nihon. I must not think in that way though, I chide myself, for here is not Nihon and it shall never be.

"Yes I've heard of you, but that doesn't mean that I will knock down my price for you. It takes money to make my mijiu, and if I knock down my price I will stop turning a profit," said the merchant. I see no fault in what he says, if it is really true that brewing the mijiu costs so much that in order to turn a profit he must jack the price up. Sesshōmaru does not seem to see that though. His exasperated sigh sounds like he thinks the brewer is foolish.

I think Sesshōmaru is foolish.

Sure, I like his poetry. I think it speaks of very real things, of things that are very raw and can burn you harshly when you speak of them. I also sometimes wonder if he is a bit unhinged, his poetry does make him seem that way at times, though that is beside the point. However, asking for more for less and trying to get that through his status as a popular poet is not something one should do. It is crass, without decorum. A man such as that is stupid. I can realize that, I am not blinded by my admiration of poetry.

"Fine, I will use this for something more valuable," I hear Sesshōmaru. I roll my eyes, probably thinking the same exact thing that merchant is thinking. To Sesshōmaru, what is more valuable than mijiu? If anyone has ever read his poetry, one would guess that his life revolves around the liquid. All he ever does is write about it, though occasionally he'll mention some woman he had the pleasure of 'breaking in'.

"And what would that be, oh great poet?" I hear the merchant say, his voice dripping with sarcasm. See, I was right, the poet and I were thinking along the same lines. What on earth would a man who's entire career revolved around mijiu get that would be more valuable? A new house? A new brush? More paper? Clothing?

"A slave," he says proudly. My eyes widen a fraction. A slave? What if he buys me? I _know_ that he will not be the type of master I'm looking for, though he will read my poetry, perhaps, it won't be because he cherishes me like a daughter. From what his poetry says about him, if I'm not working in the kitchens, I'll be pouring him mijiu and warming his pillow.

But then I calm myself, and laugh at myself a little. Why am I afraid? It isn't like he will buy me. If he even approaches my seller, he'll ask for an experienced girl and he will point to the girls that are experienced and I will once more be ignored. He won't even spare me a glance, there is nothing to look at after all. I am just a girl, once owned but never used. The best I would ever be to him would be to cook for him, even though I am terrible in the kitchen and for the life of my couldn't even get a grain of rice off a plate.

I hear Sesshōmaru approach but I am not scare. There is no reason to be scared. He will not choose me, I am certain. But I am curious as to who he will choose, so I will listen. I'm guessing Yin Guāng, she is pretty, experienced, and she will always inflate his ego with her thousands upon thousands of airy compliments.

"Female," Sesshōmaru said, and that was all. Female was a very broad category, but I knew what he meant. Yin Guāng, as I've already stated. A man such as himself would want a 'female' who knew her way around the bedroom.

"Well there is Yin Guāng," said the slave master. I'm certain he pointed to the native beauty, and I was certain that Sesshōmaru must've been standing their slack-jawed as he stared at her. But then he did what I hadn't expected.

"Is it hard to find females that can actually think and are better than a common whore?" Sesshōmaru asked. I was stunned, and also little frightened. The slave master really didn't specialize in Sesshōmaru's type of slave, and he only one girl that fit that type and of course that was me, little ol' Rin from Nihon. Oh Son of Heaven, in that moment I was hoping to heaven and back that the fact I wasn't from here would deter him from buying me.

"Well you can have Rin then, seven pieces of a gold is all I need." I could feel the stairs of both Sesshōmaru and the slave master, and I knew where this was headed. Seven pieces of gold and then I was going to a new home to do who knows what. Certainly I wouldn't be kitchen staff, nor cleaning staff. As I've expressed before, I'm not that type of person.

"Six and you have a deal," said Sesshōmaru all matter of fact-like. I rolled my eyes. He was still bargaining! Damn cheapskate, I was worth a hell of a lot more than just seven pieces of gold, especially since I was the one he was looking for and he was still trying to buy me for six.

I didn't want to be bought. I'd much rather remain merchandise for the rest of my life, even if I would never have someone read me a poem or cherish me as my previous master had. It is better than being some whore for some man who spent his days in a drunken stupor, jotting down the thoughts that skittered across his brain. But I know I have no choice here. I am a slave, to be bought and to be used, without freedom to be myself. And though I will not go happily with the man before me, with this man that is trying to buy me for six pieces of gold to spite a mijiu seller for not lowering his prices for him, I know that this evening I shall be settling down in a new place, a slave to this poet.

"You have a deal."

I closed my eyes, the deal was sealed, there was no escape. Resignation to fate was my one option and here I was, taking it.


End file.
